Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) (7 page)

across her suspiciously full lips, which looked like they had been plumped with collagen or repeatedly stung by

honeybees. "You don't mind do you, Little Miss Pee-can?"

Atlanta turned from her obnoxious roommate and

faced her sister. "You do understand, don't you," she said with a deadly calm that scared Savannah, "that the next time she calls me that, I'm gonna beat the tar outta her. And if! do, it's for sure that neither one of us is gonna win 'Miss Congeniality' in this pageant."

"I understand completely," Savannah assured her. "In fact, you have my blessing. But, if you would, please wait until I'm out of the room before you stomp a mud

hole in her. As much as I'd like to watch, as Security; I'm supposed to stop that sort of violence if! see it happening."

"Security?" Barbie was instantly alert. "You're Security? I thought you were the Georgia peach's mommy."

"Oh, now you are askin' for a beatin'," Savannah said. "But I'm not going to give it to you. You see, I've sworn a sacred oath to make sure that you young things stay

safe and sound this weekend. And that means: no boys in your rooms, no smoking, no drinking booze . . . basically, no fun of any kind at all."

She walked over to the bed where Barbie lay, looking more glum by the moment. "And in your case, Ms. Matthews, rest assured I'm going to take my duties very, very seriously."

"Gee, thanks," she said dryly as she tossed her empty cola can onto the floor. "I was worried, but you've set my mind at ease."

Savannah leaned over, picked up the can, and sniffed it. Satisfied that it had held only soda, she tossed it into a wicker wastebasket.

JIJUK Is

She looked around at the marble-topped vanity with

its gilded mirror, the ornately carved armoire, and the damask bedspreads. "Such a pretty room," she mused. "Y'all enjoy it now, and Atlanta .. . don't be getting any of Ms. Matthews's blood on the linens. You can just tell by lookin', they're expensive."

avannah found Ryan Stone standing near the door of the gallery, explaining the workings of the anient press to a bevy of giggling beauties. When she )eckoned him with a crooked finger, he excused him- ;elf to the girls and joined her beside the display case

illed with awards.

"Sorry to take you away from all of that adoration," he said.

"Ah, that's quite all right." He bent his dark head iown to hers and whispered, 'Tell me something, >avannah; I wasn't raised with sisters. Do girls always ;iggle that much?"

"Not that much. That sort of ridiculous tittering is isiiaiiy done only in the presence of a gorgeous hunk." He actually blushed. That was one thing Savannah oved most about Ryan Stone--his humility. A Greek

god who was actually down-to-earth. Who could resist such an enticing combination?

"Did you get Atlanta settled into her room okay?" he asked.

"Well, she's settled. Only time will tell how 'okay' it is. She isn't too crazy about her roommate, a little priss named Barbie Matthews. To be honest, I'm not exactly nuts about the kid myself."

Ryan raised one eyebrow. "Barbie Matthews? I just turned away one of her admirers at the doorway. He said he was her boyfriend and had to talk to her about

some urgent matter. He didn't want to take 'no' for an answer. I ah . . . escorted. . . him to the front gate, but I wouldn't be surprised if he shows up again sometime

this evening."

"What does he look like?"

"About six feet tall, long brown hair, black heavy-metal T-shirt and jeans, tattoos on both forearms-- skulls and crossbones."

"Hmm . what mother wouldn't dream of a son-in

law like that? Is there anyone else we're looking out for?"

Ryan gave a discreet nod toward a group of people, who had congregated on the other side of the room beneath

a plaque that bore Benjamin Franklin's quote: "Wine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to

see us happy."

"See the guy in the Brioni suit, fiftyish, salt-andpepper hair?" he said.

"Yeah, nice threads."

"True, but in his case, clothes can't turn a pig into a gentleman. I don't like the way he's looking at some of the girls. A definite Dirty Old Man Alert"

SOUR GRAPES 69

Savannah watched for a moment, and just as Ryan had said, the guy's eyes were following each girl who passed with less than wholesome interest.

"Who is he?"

"Name's Frank Addison, a neighboring vintner and one of the pageant's judges, if you can believe that."

"Oh, yeah, I'll believe about anything if it supports my supposition that human beings are mostly turkey

butts. . . no disrespect to the turkeys."

A tall, elegant woman, wearing a black-silk evening sheath and a strand of lavender-jade beads left the

group beneath the plaque and walked over to Savannah

and Ryan. In one hand she held a glass of red wine, the other she used to tuck a wayward strand of fine, blond hair back into her perfect French twist

As she approached them she offered her hand to

Savannah. "Good evening, I'm Catherine WhitestoneVilla. And I'm so glad you're with us this evening."

Savannah glanced sideways at Ryan; he seemed as surprised as she was at this gracious greeting. Apparently Mrs. WhitestoneVilla thought they were honored guests.

"I'm Savannah Reid," she said, returning the firm handshake. The woman's fingers were a bit cool and damp, and Savannah assumed it was from holding the wineglass. 'This is Ryan Stone," she added. "We're working Security for you this weekend."

"Oh, yes, I know." The lady smiled broadly, showing a mouthful of perfectly straight, dazzlingly white teeth. "I'm delighted that we have professionals like the two of

you. We want everything to go well for the girls and all of our guests here at Villa Rosa. We've never hosted a beauty pageant before, you know. Some cross-country

70 G.A. McKevett

runs for breast-cancer research, canoe-racing on the lake for muscular dystrophy . . . that sort of thing. But never a beauty contest. This is so exciting!"

"I can't imagine that you lack for excitement here at

Villa Rosa," Ryan said. "Your winery produces pure artistry in a bottle."

Her green eyes glistened with pride. "Ah, then you've sampled our wares?"

"I've enjoyed your wines for years. Your 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon and your 1983 Zinfandel Ruby were

amazing."

She nodded approvingly "You have a discriminating

palate. Those were two of my husband's favorites."

Savannah recalled hearing that Anthony Villa's

grandfather had emigrated from northern Italy to the

United States and founded Villa Rosa. She also remembered that Anthony Villa had political aspirations. Was it a seat in the state senate?

One quick glance-over told Savannah that Catherine

WhitestoneVilla was the perfect, politically correct wife for a politician.

"And is our future senator with us this evening?" Ryan asked.

"I believe he's still up at the house, reading bedtime stories to our two boys," she said. "But he'll be joining us later. He's giving the welcoming speech at dinner. He's quite a powerful speaker. Have you had the pleasure of hearing him yet?"

Savannah was quickly amending her initial evaluation

of Mrs. Villa. Old Kate was just a little too perfect, a tad too correct. Listening to her talk about her beloved gave Savannah that same slightly nauseous feeling that

she got when she polished off an entire box of assorted

chocolates by herself at home on Saturday night.

SOUR GRAPES 71

"No, but we're looking forward to hearing him," Ryan replied, "although we won't be able to give him our undivided attention."

"Yeah," Savannah interjected, "nose to the grindstone and all that."

"Of course, you have work to do," Catherine said. "Please keep a close eye on our lovely young ladies. Most of them came without their parents, and I feel like a surrogate mother to them."

"Don't worry, Mother Hen." Savannah wondered if Mrs. Villa could hear that faint, sarcastic note in her voice.

The green eyes flashed, ever so slightly. She had definitely picked it up, but had obviously chosen to ignore it. Yes, Anthony Villa had a valuable asset in his politic wife.

"You must excuse me while I play hostess." Catherine shook hands with them both once again, and Savannah noticed that her palm was even colder and clammier than before.

A moment later, she was milling among the guests, whose numbers were swelling, filling the gallery and flowing over to the tasting room, where dinner was to be served.

Neither Savannah nor Ryan spoke for several moments

after her departure, as they watched her in silence.

Finally, Savannah said, "Do you like her?"

"Not really."

"Me either. She seemed a bit worried, don't you think? As though she might be expecting some sort of trouble."

"I thought so myself. Definitely concerned about something."

1Z MaieVett

Atlanta sat on the bed, putting the finishing touches pn her makeup, attempting to see what she was doing In the tiny, handheld mirror she had brought with her, evhile trying to ignore her roommate, who was hogging he well-lit dressing table. They had reached an uneasy nice. The only details of their unspoken agreement Don't look at each other, say a word to each other, or in my way acknowledge the other's existence.

This was especially difficult for Atlanta, whose mouth

;eldom stopped running for any reason, even selfweservation.

The only sounds were the clatter of makeup parakernalia,

and Barbie's frequent cell-phone conversaions. It seemed her phone was constantly bii7zing, or he was continually calling someone.

Atlanta eavesdropped with interest; Barbie had a fas:Mating social life. Better still, she seemed to be pissing lot of people off. Every exchange appeared to be ome sort of confrontation.

When the phone rang again, Barbie swore, threw town her mascara, and grabbed it, knocking over a botle of foundation in the process. She ignored the Tawny Taupe" puddle that spread across the dressing able's marble top.

"How the hell am I supposed to get ready for din

Savannah

crossed her arms over her chest and continued

to watch the lady thoughtfully. "What sort of wine was she drinking?"

"I believe it was a Merlot"

"You don't chill Merlot, do you?"

He gave her a sly little grin. "Nope, you don't." She nodded. "I didn't think so."

Savannah crossed her arms over her chest and continued

to watch the lady thoughtfully. "What sort of wine was she drinking?"

"I believe it was a Merlot"

"You don't chill Merlot, do you?"

He gave her a sly little grin. "Nope, you don't." She nodded. "I didn't think so."

alJLJI

UriC21.E.Co3 /

ner?" She stabbed at the "on" button and put the phone to her ear. "Yeah, who is it? I told you not to call me anymore! Are you stupid or what?!"

Atlanta continued to apply her blush, but her ears were practically standing out on stems.

"Big deal!" Barbie continued. "Some cheap flowers. What did you do, pick them out of your mother's backyard? Geez, you're such a freakin' loser. I hate you, you know that? I freakin' hate you."

Atlanta glanced over at the flower arrangement that

was obviously from a professional shop, and had set someone back a hundred dollars or more. Backyard flowers my eye, she thought. Some guy is treating her better than she deserves.

Barbie clicked off the phone and began dabbing at

the spilled foundation with a handful of tissues.

Eagerly, Atlanta waited for the next scene of the Barbara Matthew's soap opera to begin. It didn't take long.

Barbie tossed the soiled tissues in the general direction

of the garbage can, then whirled around on her seat. "Aren't you about done with your face there, Georgia?"

"What's it to you?" Atlanta replied. "I'm not escorting you to dinner, so why should you care when I'm ready?"

"I need a little private time in my room, if that's okay with you. Or even if it's not."

Slowly, methodically, Atlanta began to replace her makeup items in her cosmetic bag. While she wouldn't admit that she was deliberately irritating her roommate,

the old metaphor, "As slow as molasses in Janimry" did float through her mind.

"Sorry," Atlanta said, sounding completely remorse

'I

.2$1(41EVEU

free. "I'm not even dressed yet. I'll do well to make it to dinner on time; I'm almost always late for everything. It's part of my charm."

"What charm?" Barbie grumbled as she picked up the phone again and punched in some numbers.

As Atlanta casually strolled around the room, collecting her lingerie, dress, and shoes from her assorted suitcases, she didn't even bother to pretend that she wasn't listening.

Barbie's party answered right away. "Yeah, it's me," she said. "What's up?"

Atlanta sat back down on the bed and began to carefully

check her stockings for runs. She could see Barbie's reflection in the mirror, and one look was enough to see that Ms. Matthews was unhappy with what she heard on the other end.

"Well, did you. . . you know. . . have that little talk?" She paused, tapping her fingernails on the table impatiently. "Yeah, and so? That is not what I want to hear! That is so not what I want to hear!" She glanced at Atlanta in the mirror and lowered her voice a notch. 'This . . . situation. . is getting worse, not better. We know who's going to be the sorriest in the end, and it ain't gonna be me. Fix it, dammit! You caused it; you fix it!"

She clicked off the phone and hurled it across the

room onto her bed.

Manta realized she was standing there with her